THE BODY OF A WOMAN AS A BATTELFIELD IN THE BOSNIAN WAR
Actes Sud-Papiers, Paris 1997
Two translations from the French by Joyce Nettles and by Alison Sinclair
2 women
In a series of both real and surreal vignettes, we follow the relationship that develops between two women: Kate is an American Harvard-trained psychologist working in Bosnia with those digging up the mass graves and recording atrocities after the Bosnian war; Dorra is a mute victim of a politically motivated gang rape (pregnant). At first we believe that Kate is attempting to heal Dorra and she reports on her encounters with her in her diary, speaking with cool scientific detachment. Dorra resists all communication from Kate and is only known to us when she is alone with her hate, anger at God, and determination to end her own life rather than life with the agony of her imminent birthing of a child. Soon we realize that both women are institutionalized in this German hospital, Kate because of her own breakdown after looking at so many mass graves and trying to retrieve corpses and Dorra because of her unwillingness to return to any normal life. In a series of scenes and monologues, the women’s scarred lives become intertwined in both expected and unexpected ways. Ultimately, there is a surprising mutual redemption, leaving the audience with an oddly hopeful ending.
The ending is quite powerful despite the weight of the subject matter and the almost predictability of the character evolutions. This is a credit to the playwrights’ ability to seek and find essential truth beyond the specific circumstances, giving the play a philosophical resonance and a true contemplation of the female experience of this brutal male practice.
DORRA and KATE are eating together. There are flowers on the table, and a bottle of rosé. The atmosphere is relaxed, they’ve both got a bit tipsy and there’s a real complicity between them
DORRA: (Eating) As soon as he’s had a drink, a sense of history is awakened in Balkan man. In the seediest bar, wherever he can get pissed, whether it’s in Zagreb, Tirana, Athens, Bucharest, Sofia, Ljubliana or Skopje, Balkan man all of a sudden becomes an internationalist, brimming with love for his nearest and dearest. And he starts to judge the whole world using the philosophy of “but”. But is the mirror of Balkan man’s thinking, it’s the key to his soul, it’s the word that makes ordinary conversation take a sudden turn into subtle diatribe.
Gypsy music. Or perhaps it’s DORRA who starts to sing a snatch of a gypsy tune. In the following monologues, it isn’t really DORRA who speaks, but her memories and her life experience. Each time, she really enters into the skin of “the Balkan man” who churns out, year in year out, those same old clichés, those same over-used insults and those same spiteful comments directed at his “Balkan brothers” of another nationality.
DORRA: (As “Balkan man”) I do like gypsies; I’ve really got absolutely nothing against them. Come on, gypsy, give me a song. No, don’t get me wrong, gypsies are really great. They go back a long way; they have something about them that’s deep and mysterious, but at the same time light-hearted and joyful. But, let’s face it, they’re all thieves; you can’t take your eyes off them for a minute; they steal horses, sheep, chickens, children, and now, to top it all, they’re even stealing our own sacred folklore, our own most beautiful songs that they bring out on western CDs, making millions of dollars…
Their game continues. This time, it’s Albanian music.
I really like the Albanians. I’ve got an Albanian colleague at the university. He’s quiet, keeps himself to himself, is careful with his money: he’s done really well. Yes, they’re really good people, the Albanians, especially those from the north, who are Catholics. No, don’t get me wrong, I can’t say I’ve got anything against the Albanians. They’re probably the oldest race in the Balkans… But, let’s face it, my university colleague actually came from Kosovo, so he’s not really Albanian at all, and you have to admit that in today’s Europe the Albanians are the lowest of the low. Enver Hodja really dumped them in the shit, and the whole world had them knocking on the door: the Yugoslavians, the Russians, the Chinese. Luckily, people fed them. But then they fell out with everybody, and now they’re the poorest people in Europe; even their ideas are poor, like wanting to annex Kosovo. I mean, look what happened to that idea…
They clink glasses.
DORRA :Cheers!
KATE: Cheers!
Bulgarian music.
DORRA, letting herself go more and more, clicks her fingers and sings.
DORRA: (As yet another “Balkan man”, speaking of his “Balkan brothers”) The Bulgarians; oh the Bulgarians, they’re really nice. They’re really good gardeners. My mother only ever bought vegetables from a Bulgarian greengrocer. You should have seen the gherkins he had, and the yoghurt. Bulgarian yoghurt really is the best in the world. And the Bulgarians have great taste… and their roses… they’re simply fantastic. And their rose petal jam, have you ever tried it? It’s wonderful. Yes, don’t get me wrong, I really like the Bulgarians… But, let’s face it, they’re a disappointed and frustrated race. It’s they who started the Balkan war in 1913. They wanted a country bigger than they actually needed, those Bulgarians. They wanted the whole of Macedonia to grow their gherkins in. And, even today, they say that Macedonians are really Bulgarians. They’ve bulgarised the names of all the Turks who live in their country. That’s the Bulgarians for you; you can only get along with them if you keep them in their place. Cheers!
KATE: Cheers!
They clink glasses and kiss. DORRA starts the game again. Turkish music. KATE fills up their glasses and enters more and more into the spirit of the game.
KATE: It’s Turkish!
DORRA: Yes, it’s Turkish. KATE: So, the Turks… DORRA: (As yet another “Balkan man”) The Turks, now I do respect the Turks. They really are a force to be reckoned with. One foot in Asia, one foot in Europe; the Turks, they don’t understand the meaning of the word “border”. Never underestimate the Turks! This spring I went to Istanbul. It’s amazing what you can buy there. And they still have a huge empire. They do most of their business with us now, because the French, the Italians and the English are too far away. Yes, the Turks are really good workers. You’ve seen how many there are in Germany, and they’re all in work. There are 4 million unemployed in Germany but not one of them is a Turk. Amazingly every single Turk managed to get work. Honest to God, a few months ago, a Turk opened a bakers’ shop near where I live, and now I only ever eat Turkish bread, it’s really good. The Turks will come back to the Balkans bit and bit, you’ll see. I don’t actually have any Turkish friends myself; still – don’t get me wrong - I do respect them as a people. But, let’s face it, it can’t be right that they put our own bakers out of business. People will think we’re no longer capable of making our own bread. And the Turks just barge in wanting to show us how to do it. I’m not in favour of that, them coming in with their electric cookers that they’ve bought in the west with our money. And it’s those same Turks who’ve looted our country for four centuries. Five centuries actually. And on top of that, they’re not even Europeans, and yet they’ve been accepted into NATO, and just you wait, they’ll soon worm their way into the European Union.
They clink glasses and drink. Jewish music.
KATE: That’s…
DORRA: Jewish…
KATE: Oh, yes. I really like the Jews…
DORRA: Some of my friends are Jews, and once I had Jewish neighbours…
KATE: When I was little, I used to play with Jewish kids who lived near us… DORRA: Yes, personally, I think it’s a shame that the Jews have left our country over the years. In the town where I was born, between the two world wars, there were 5,000 Jews, 5,000 Germans, and there were only 4,000 of us. Did you know that? But, personally, I saw nothing wrong with that, because all the Jews were businessmen or intellectuals. My history professor, at high school, he was a Jew, and so was the dentist my mother used to drag me to; and when I started to learn the violin, the woman who taught me was Jewish. And then nearly all of them went to Palestine. No, don’t get me wrong, the Jews are OK, and - what’s more - wherever they go the economy flourishes…
KATE: But…
DORRA: Ah ha! You learn quickly… But, let’s face it, we mustn’t forget that it was the Yids that crucified our Lord Jesus Christ. And, when they saw that communism wasn’t really working in the east and that the quality of life there was getting worse and worse, they left en masse, not the least bit grateful that those same countries had given them their nationality. Cheers! KATE: Cheers!
Serbian music.
KATE: So what’s next…
DORRA: The Serbs…
KATE: Ah, the Serbs. Now I really like the Serbs…
DORRA: Actually my wife is a Serb. Of all the Slavs in the Balkans the Serbs are the toughest. They have a very primitive, wild side to them, that has often made the world quake over the centuries. They’re bloody great drinkers, and they’re bloody great fighters. And it’s strange how charming they can be, considering that by nature they’re rather morose. They have a melancholy that’s been in their veins for generations. But they can be hot-blooded. Their blood sometimes literally boils. They always have to be on the move, they’re always restless. So, don’t get me wrong, the Serbs are actually rather attractive, and I should know, my wife’s a Serb. They’re full of surprises, off the wall, unpredictable…..
KATE: But…
DORRA: But, let’s face it, they have an annoying tendency to exaggerate everything; they exaggerate all the time. They’ve got no concept of moderation, the Serbs, they’re nationalists through and through. They’re completely crazy. All they think about is their empire, lost in the 14th century by the way, and their martyred king, King Stefan. But they haven’t done much since then. Now they’re just pig-farmers, dreaming of a Great Serbia. I’ve had them up to here. And what’s more, my ex-wife who was a Serb left me for a mother-fucker of a Serb, for a good for nothing mother-fucker of a Serb.
The women kiss each other, eat and drink. The game continues; Croatian music.
KATE: (With her mouth full) That’s…
DORRA: (With her mouth full) The Croats…
KATE: The Croats, yes, I like the Croats… DORRA: It’s lovely in Croatia. It’s so clean, so beautiful. You must have seen the cathedral they’ve got in Zagreb, this shows they’re Catholics, you can tell they’re part of the Roman civilisation, Latin, the Pope, the Holy Roman Empire, the spirit of Venice. The Croats have first-class minds, they’re sharp, they’re like the Adriatic Sea: open, they have insight, they’re Slavs but they’re westernised. They did well to get rid of the Cyrillic alphabet and start to write in Roman letters; that put them a hundred years ahead of everybody else. No, don’t get me wrong, the Croats are great, they’re like our twin brothers…
KATE: (Stuffing her mouth) But…
DORRA: But, let’s face it, nobody can hurt you like your own brother. That’s what they’re like, the Croats, they’ll stab you in the back, they’ll betray you as soon as look at you. You saw what they did in ’41, they went over to the Nazis, all of them in the end, all except Tito. They sided with the Nazis and massacred the Serbs. Because that’s what they’re like, the Croats: bastard collaborators; ustashi. And even today they’re thick as thieves with the Germans, Germany’s their real country. Oh, the Croats… Here’s to us!
KATE: To us!
Greek music. DORRA makes dancing movements whilst still seated on her chair.
KATE : Oh, I know that, it’s Greek.
DORRA: (Dancing) Ah, Zorba the Greek…
KATE: The Greeks, here’s to the Greeks, I adore the Greeks…
DORRA: You can really have a good time with the Greeks.
KATE: Have you seen them playing their crazy bazoukis?
DORRA: But they are crazy, the Greeks, crazy but beautiful. The second a Greek becomes your friend, he’ll give you everything. And they’ve certainly left their mark on history, the Greeks; they laid the foundations of civilisation as we know it. So, don’t get me wrong, I love the Greeks…
KATE: But…
DORRA: (She stops dancing) But, let’s face it, the Greeks nowadays have absolutely nothing in common with the ancient Greeks, even though they believe they’re the direct descendants of Pericles. Ha, that makes me laugh. Have you seen those stupid little outfits their National Guard wear…
KATE: Peasant costume!
DORRA: Ah, the Greeks, they’re just an unscrupulous nation of shopkeepers. Now they’re starting to build motorways with money they wheedled out of the European Union…
KATE: (Starts to open a bottle of champagne) No!
DORRA: Yes!
The sound of the cork popping. They start to drink the champagne. The game continues; Hungarian music. The alcohol is clearly going to their heads.
KATE: The…
DORRA: The Hungarians…
KATE: Oh, I love the Hungarians…
DORRA: They’re real originals, the Hungarians. Have you heard the language they speak?
KATE: It’s not like any other language at all…
DORRA: Right; you can’t understand a word. It hasn’t got any Latin in it…
KATE: It hasn’t got any Slav…
DORRA: It hasn’t got any Greek…
KATE: Certainly no Turkish! DORRA: No German.
KATE: It’s all just… Hungarian!
DORRA: That’s the thing about the Hungarians, they’re not like anybody else; they’re absolutely unique. They’re indomitable; born leaders. You remember how they had the audacity to rise up against Moscow in ’56? It’s crazy, but they wanted to throw out communism as far back as ’56. They had a bloody nerve, those Hungarians. And they paid for it. Even so, after that, you know, they lived better than we did, even under Janos Kadar: more freedom, more small businesses, proof that big brother Russia had more respect for his little Hungarian brother than he had for his other little brothers. That’s the Hungarians for you, tough as old boots, throughout history…So, don’t get me wrong, I admire their strength, their virility…..
KATE: But…
DORRA: … but, let’s face it, they’re profiteers, and megalomaniacs; and actually they’re servants of the Austrians. What did they think, these Hungarians, that their empire was going to last for a thousand years? It’s their arrogance that ruined them, their unbelievable arrogance, it’s…
The game continues; Romanian music.
KATE: Oh no, is there more?
DORRA: Well, you know, there are rather a lot of us in the Balkans. The Romanians…
KATE: (Feigning exhaustion) I like the Romanians a whole lot…
DORRA: They’re the Latins here. When you hear them speak, you’d think it was French, or Italian. And between the two wars, do you know what they called Bucharest? They called it “little Paris”. I really like the Romanians. And their women! It’s amazing what a hit Romanian whores are now in Turkey. The Turkish whores are even starting to learn Romanian so that they can pass themselves off as Romanians in Istanbul. Yes, don’t get me wrong, I really like the Romanians…
KATE: But…
DORRA: … but, let’s face it, they’re all doom and gloom, and they’re really two-faced. They always somehow manage to pop up on the winning side. And, actually, their language is riddled with Slavic words. They say they’re not really Balkan, that the Balkans stop at the Danube, but there’s nothing more Balkan than a Romanian, take my word for it…
KATE: (Egging DORRA on to speed up the game) The Muslims…
DORRA: The Bosnian Muslims? They’ve really had their share of suffering, you know. They deserve a country of their own. Do you remember how they held out in Sarajevo?
KATE: I take my hat off to them.
DORRA: They’ve got guts, the Bosnian Muslims. So, don’t get me wrong, I really like them…
KATE: But…
DORRA: … but, let’s face it, they’re actually just Slavs who’ve converted to Islam.
KATE: So they’re traitors?!
DORRA: Actually, it’s hard to know what to call them. Last century, people called them “Turks”. And then Tito came along, with his idea of inventing a Muslim nation, something that doesn’t exist anywhere else in the world. At the time, the Saudis protested…
KATE: (Now completely drunk, and victorious) The blacks…
DORRA: Who?
KATE: The blacks…
DORRA: There aren’t any blacks in the Balkans.
KATE: Yes, but…
DORRA: But…
KATE: But, this but - it’s everywhere. Do you think this Balkan “but” is really only found in the Balkans? No, you’re wrong there, honey… Come to my country one day if you want to hear the “Balkan but” sung to an American tune…. The blacks are great, the blacks are really, really great. I like the blacks. Music seems to run in their veins; it’s amazing. They invented the blues, the blacks did. The blacks’ blues! And they invented gospel music. And they’re terrific boxers…
DORRA: I like the blacks, too…
KATE: But…
DORRA: But…
KATE: But…
DORRA: But…
KATE: But the problem is… there’s “a black problem”.
DORRA: “A black question”…
KATE: Because, frankly, they’re not like us…
DORRA: (Pretending to “fall in” quickly) Because they’re black!
KATE: No. We have to be politically correct here… Because they are “people of colour”… But they’re uncultured “people of colour”… and they stink… and they’re violent… and they’re always causing riots… and they’re trouble-makers… and they’re drug-dealers… There! And don’t think it’s just the goddamn fucking niggers who fuck us up… No… there’s also…
DORRA: (More and more drunk) The Indians…
KATE: That’s riiiight! The “Native American Indians”…
DORRA: Who are rather beautiful…
KATE: … with their feathers and things, very decorative…
DORRA: But…
KATE: But…
DORRA: But…
KATE: But it’s better when they’re deeeaad! A good Injun is a dead Injun!
DORRA: Shiiiiit!
KATE: Oh, yeah. And then there’s the Mexicans…
DORRA: Not in the Balkans…?
KATE: But…
DORRA & KATE: The “Balkan but” gets everywhere…
DORRA: So, what about the Mexicans? I like the Mexicans…
KATE: Yes, the Mexicans are nice…
DORRA: They wear big hats…
KATE: They’re called sombreros…
DORRA: And they have ponchos…
KATE: And guitars…
DORRA: But…
KATE: But…
DORRA: But…
KATE: But, they all want is to come and live in my country, the goddamn fucking Mexicans, in my United States of America, those bastard Mexicans. Every day, every single day, thousands of them sneak across the border to come and work illegally in my country, taking jobs away from honest Americans. And their bloody kids are a burden on our education system and on our health system, and they don’t even bloody try to learn our language… Oh, my God
DORRA: Then there’s the Puerto Ricans…
KATE: Oh yes, the Puerto Ricans…
DORRA: I like the Puerto Ricans…
KATE: But…
DORRA: But…
KATE: (Now acting like a full-blooded racist, banging her fist on the table) I’ve had the bloody Puerto Ricans up to here, they make me puke!
DORRA: Then there’s the…
KATE: The…
DORRA: The Aztecs…
KATE: Oh, I like the Aztecs…
DORRA: Yes, they’re nice, the Aztecs…
KATE: Yes, but…
DORRA: But…
KATE: But…
DORRA: But they’re Aztecs! That’s the problem!
KATE: That’s it. That’s fucking it… They’re fucking Aztecs…
DORRA: Just like the…
KATE: The Patagonians…
DORRA: The Patagonians, yes…
KATE: The Patagonians… they’re nice the Patagonians…
DORRA: But…
KATE: But…
DORRA & KATE: They’re Patagonians! Shit!
Rock music. They dance, building up to dancing rock and roll.
The Body of a Woman as a Battlefield - Young Vic Studio
It is rare on a British stage to find a play dealing with contemporary Europe. But this work by Matei Visniec, the exiled Romanian writer, is an impassioned two-hander that encompasses the Bosnian war, victimised women, Balkan man and the Freudian nature of resurgent nationalism. Even if you can sense Visniec ticking off his list of chosen topics, you emerge both intellectually informed and emotionally moved.
The setting of The Body of a Woman as as Battlefield in the Bosnian War is a Nato medical facility on the German border where two women come together in the aftermath of the war.
Dorra, from the former Yuogoslavia, is suffering traumatic neurosis as a result of rape. Kate, a 35-year-old Bostonian who has been working as team pyschologist to a mass-graves commission, is also suffering a nervous crisis.
At first Dorra is deeply suspicious of Kate, imagining she wants to subject her to clinical enquiry. But the two women are drawn together by post-war stress and offer each other healing support. It is only when Kate seeks to adopt Dorra's expected baby that we are reminded of the gulf between American guilt and European experience.
Visniec covers a vast amount of ground in his 105-minute play. In one scene the two women get drunk and play tapes of European music while Dorra catalogues the vices and virtues of all the respective nationalities.
It may be highly contrived but, as female drunk-scenes go, it is 10 times more interesting than the acrobatic display of inebriation in Coward's Fallen Angels.
Visniec's central idea, however, is the one contained in his title: that, in the Balkans, rape is a form of military strategy and that resurgent nationalism is often a form of infantile sadism. Given the horror-stories that came out of Bosnia, it is a perfectly tenable thesis. My only cavil is that Visniec announces it journalistically and then proceeds to illustrate it dramatically.
But Alison Sinclair, who has directed and translated the play for Reality Productions, engages you with the plight of these two women and turns then into something more than symbolic victims.
Sladjana Vujovic as Dorra beautifully charts the conflict between physical revulsion at carrying a child of war and the growth of a defiant maternalism. And Gina Landor, through alertly expressive features, captures the American observer's harrowed identification with European female suffering.
It starts as a thesis-play but it ends by showing theatre's rare capacity to give emotional reality to reported fact.
(The Guardian, Saturday 18 November 2000 , by Michael Billington )
Productions in France :
Studio des Champs Elysées, Paris, 1997, directed by Michel Fagadau
Théâtre de l'Est Parisien, Paris, 2000, directed by Guy Rétoré
Others productions :
Dramatical Theater of Skopje, Macedonia 2010, directed by Dejan Projkovski
Romania, Moldavia, Bulgaria, Belgium, Great Britain, Sweden, Finland, Italy, Germany, Macedonia, Turkey, Canada, Iran, Japan…
Romanian
English (translation Joyce Nettles)
English (translation Alison Sinclair)
American English (translation Burke Walker)
Swedish (translation Dan Shafran et Åke Nylinder)
Catalan (translation Marta Prunés Bosh)
Portuguese (translation Alves Costa)
Italian (translation Ivano Bruno)
Bulgarian (translation Svetlana Pancheva)
Greek (translation Petros Minopetros)
Russian (translation Marina Staryhk)
Spanish (translation Mylène Ghariani)
German (translation Sybille Neuhaus)
Polish (translation Dominik Paszkiewicz)
Persian (translation Tinouche Namjou)
Japanese (translation Hiroko Kawaguchi)
Turkish (disponible en format électronique, traduction Zeynep Avcı)
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